


Some Better Feeling

by enigmaticblue



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Amnesty Challenge, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pandemics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 12:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13857744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: Blair doesn’t expect to find a sanctuary at the end of the world.





	Some Better Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the trope_bingo prompt, “AU: apocalypse.” Fills the February amnesty challenge for the prompts: “theft,” “pandemics and endemics,” “chronic illness/pain,” and the wild card prompt, “ostracized from society.” Fills the wild card square for Sentinel Bingo for “soulmates.” (Yeah, killing three birds with one stone.)

Blair curls up in the corner of his leaky tent, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, trying to block out the sound of dripping water. He feels the cough start up in the base of his lungs, and he presses his face into his wadded up sweatshirt, the only pillow he has.

 

It’s been nearly four months since he last slept in a bed, under a solid roof, longer still since he had a hot shower. He’s heading south, but slowly. A year or two ago, he probably would have been able to do 15 or 20 miles a day, but now he’s lucky if he manages 5, 10 on a really good day.

 

Blair hasn’t had a lot of good days recently.

 

As usual, one cough leads to another, and Blair curls around his balled-up hoodie, trying to brace himself. Coughing too hard leads to bruised ribs, and bruised ribs slow him down that much more. If he’s going to survive, Blair’s only chance is to get far enough south to enjoy warmer, dryer weather.

 

Considering that he’d been on a dig in Canada when everything went down, he’s lucky to have made it as far as Washington State.

 

He coughs again and groans, wishing he could sleep at least a few hours. If he can get some sleep, he can make it ten miles tomorrow.

 

Blair breathes shallowly, trying to keep the cough from materializing long enough to drop off. Maybe if he can fall asleep, he won’t wake up for a few hours.

 

There’s the sound of a branch cracking, and it’s not a normal forest sound. Blair has enough experience by now to know the difference. He freezes, hoping that it’s just a random hunter, and they’ll pass him by. His tent is constructed of stained, olive green canvas, and would be nearly impossible to see.

 

“Nearly” doesn’t mean “completely,” though.

 

“Who’s in the tent?” a masculine voice asks.

 

He curls up even tighter, hoping that the man will go away if he doesn’t say anything, if he stays silent.

 

“I need you to come out with your hands up,” the man says. “You’re too close to the town to let you stay here without checking you out.” There’s a pause when Blair stays quiet. “I’m armed.”

 

Blair has been in some tight situations before, but this one is bad. He sounds sick, and a lot of people are prone to shooting first and asking questions later when a stranger so much as sneezes.

 

Still, there’s a good chance that the man will shoot if Blair doesn’t show himself, and Blair would end up dying in this shitty, half-assed tent without even knowing who shot him.

 

The rain has slowed to a drizzle, and Blair crawls out, keeping his hands visible.

 

The movement exacerbates his cough, and as much as he tries to suppress it, he’s soon doubled over, trying to draw in a breath.

 

He expects to hear gunfire, but instead he feels a hand close around his upper arm, steadying him. Blair manages to catch his breath, and the man pulls him upright. “You all right there, Chief?”

 

“I’m not—I’m not contagious,” Blair gasps.

 

“If you had the plague, you’d be dead by now,” the man replies philosophically. “You been to a doctor?”

 

Blair laughs, although the sound holds little humor. “What doctor, man? Most people, they hear me cough, and I have to talk them out of killing me.”

 

“You need a warm bed and something hot to drink,” he says. “Come on.”

 

Blair pulls back, although he can’t break the man’s hold. “That sounds like a great offer, but the last time someone ‘helped,’ they stole all my stuff.”

 

The waning moon doesn’t offer much light to see by, so Blair can’t see the expression on the man’s face, or make out his features. He can tell the man has at least a few inches on him, and can feel the strength in the hand still wrapped around his bicep.

 

“That wasn’t an offer, Chief,” the man replies, sounding amused. “I can’t leave you out here. Frankly, we aren’t interested in your crappy tent, and we might be able to replace it with something better when you’re ready to hit the road again.”

 

Before everything, before the end of the world, Blair had been the trusting sort, believing the best of people. He’s learned suspicion over the last year and change. Although the man is right—his tent isn’t worth stealing, but that doesn’t mean someone _won’t_.

 

“Why would you want to help me?” he asks.

 

The man releases him. “It’s not about want, it’s about duty. We don’t accept troublemakers, and we defend our own, but you don’t seem like much of a threat. I can’t leave you out here.”

 

Blair is tired, hungry, and weak, and he knows he can’t put up much of a fight. “Fine.”

 

“You’ll feel better once you’ve warmed up,” the man says. “What’s your name?”

 

“Blair,” he replies. “Blair Sandburg.”

 

“Jim Ellison. Call me Jim.” He proceeds to help Blair pack up his things, threadbare and poor as they are, and treats everything with care. “Where are you from?”

 

“All over,” Blair replies. “But I was on an anthropological study in Canada when everything went down. I’ve been making my way south.”

 

Jim shoulders Blair’s pack. “What’s south?”

 

“Warmer weather,” Blair replies. “Cold and wet is my world, but it’s not doing me any favors. I thought I might be better off going south.”

 

“Makes sense,” Jim replies. “We have a doctor who can take a look at you, maybe give you something for that cough.”

 

“Are they going to have a problem with me?” Blair asks.

 

“We’ll go straight to my place and ask Dan to join us there,” Jim replies. “Don’t worry about it, Chief.”

 

In spite of everything, even though Blair _knows better_ , there’s something about Jim that Blair finds trustworthy, some part of him that relishes the feeling of Jim’s hand on his shoulder as they move through the darkness. He does wonder how Jim is able to guide them so easily when he doesn’t have a flashlight, but thinks that maybe Jim just knows the area really well.

 

If Blair had been able to travel even 500 meters farther, he would have spotted the town, and would have taken great pains to avoid it.

 

Jim leads them to a house on the edge of town, near the paved road leading into it. “This is me,” he says.

 

Blair wonders how many strangers Jim has opened his home to, and why he’s doing it now. For all he knows, Blair _is_ trouble.

 

“It’s not much,” Jim says as he ushers Blair inside. “But the couch is comfortable, and there’s hot water.”

 

“How did you manage that?” Blair asks.

 

Jim shrugs. “I’m pretty handy, and I was planning on a shower myself after my patrol.”

 

Blair frowns. “I don’t want to—”

 

“Trust me, you need it more than I do, Chief,” Jim replies. “Come on, I’ll show you where the bathroom is, and you can get cleaned up. I’ll get the doctor while you do that.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” Blair blurts out.

 

Jim lights a lantern, and the light throws his face into sharp relief. Blair sees bright blue eyes, patrician features, and a receding hairline. He’s a good-looking guy, and he smiles ruefully. “I don’t know. I heard you coughing, and I just knew.”

 

“Knew what?” Blair asks.

 

Jim shrugs. “I knew. I knew I had to help you. I can’t explain it any better than that.”

 

Blair doesn’t how to respond to that, so he nods, and Jim shows him to the bathroom. “The taps work just like you’d expect. I’ll be back soon.”

 

“Thanks,” Blair says, even though that seems inadequate for what Jim is offering.

 

“Take a load off,” Jim advises. “Feel free to use the robe on the back of the door.”

 

Blair keeps his shower shorter than he would like, mostly out of respect for Jim. He’s not sure how big the tank is, but he wants to leave some hot water. He’d cut his hair short months ago, not wanting to deal with the hassle of having long hair while on the road.

 

There are enough toiletries in the shower to get truly clean for the first time in a long time, and Blair hesitates before he pulls on Jim’s robe, but it seems a shame to pull on dirty clothing. The robe is huge on him, but it’s a fluffy blue terrycloth that’s warm and smells faintly of musk and pine.

 

He wanders back out to the living room and sits down on the couch, his eyelids drooping. He’s clean and breathing easy for a change, and the rain hitting the roof makes an appealing sound.

 

Blair drifts off, and wakes when the door opens to let Jim and another man enter. The sound startles him, and he starts coughing again.

 

“I can see what you mean, Jim,” the man says. “Careful breaths, my friend. Jim, get him some water.”

 

Blair gets his breath back and looks up to find dark eyes regarding him seriously. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” the man replies. “I’m Dan Wolf. How are you feeling, other than the cough?”

 

Blair shrugs. “I’m tired, but I honestly don’t know if that’s from not sleeping or being on the road or something else.”

 

“Fever?”

 

“I wouldn’t know,” Blair says. “Maybe.”

 

Dan grunts. “Well, we’ll try you out on antibiotics and see if that clears things up. Have you been exposed to TB?”

 

Blair tries to think. “I don’t know. Maybe? Do you think that’s what it is?”

 

“Hard to say,” Dan replies. “Wouldn’t _want_ to say right now. We’ll get you antibiotics, and let you rest. If you’re not better in a few days, we’ll discuss other options.”

 

“You’ll clear him?” Jim asks.

 

Dan shrugs. “He’d be drowning in his own mucus if it was the plague. Instead, it’s a dry cough, and he’s clearly had it awhile. Like you said, he’d be dead already if we had to worry about it catching. Still, I’d keep him here until the antibiotics have time to work.”

 

Blair finds that more comforting than he expects, although he doesn’t like the thought of it being TB. “I don’t want to be any trouble,” he protests, although it’s half-hearted at best. He knows that rest and treatment, whether or not it’s fully effectual, will only help him.

 

“Get some rest,” Dan orders. “The road is a hard place to be sick.”

 

“It’s no trouble, Sandburg,” Jim says. “I hardly ever use the couch anyway.”

 

“I’ll get the antibiotics,” Dan says. “Rest is the best thing for you now, rest and plenty of liquids and regular meals.”

 

Blair can’t find it in him to argue further, so he subsides. “Thank you.”

 

“I’ll go with you, Dan,” Jim says. “No sense in making you traipse back here tonight with the medication.”

 

Dan nods at Blair and departs, Jim on his heels. Blair is nearly asleep when Jim returns. The pills are twisted in a bit of paper, and Jim hands him one with a glass of water. “Do you want to eat something? I can make toast.”

 

“Antibiotics go down better if I have some food in my stomach,” Blair replies apologetically.

 

Jim nods. “Toast it is, then.”

 

Blair watches him, watches the efficient way he moves. “Before everything, what did you do?”

 

Jim freezes momentarily, then says, “I was in the Army, and I was a cop.”

 

“How did you come to be here?”

 

“I found it.” Jim hands him a plate. “Or I dreamed of it. I should probably go to bed. I was planning on going hunting tomorrow, and I need to be up at daybreak.”

 

With that enigmatic comment, Jim leaves Blair on the couch, and he eats his toast and swallows his pill, and in spite of the thoughts whirling in his brain, he falls asleep almost immediately.

 

~~~~~

 

Blair sleeps for the next three days straight, it seems like. He wakes long enough to drink water, take his medication, and eat something. Every time he wakes up, Jim seems to have food ready for him—simple food, soup or scrambled eggs or toast. Blair doesn’t remember ever having someone around who was this solicitous. Maybe his mom, when he’d been very young, but not in a very long time.

 

He offers to help, and Jim says there’s no need, that he should to rest, and the couch calls to him. So, he sleeps and eats and when he finally wakes refreshed, he stretches luxuriously.

 

Over the last few days, certain things have started to gel in his mind. He has some suspicions about Jim, but he doesn’t want to risk his welcome. He’s not sure if it’s a secret, but could understand why Jim would want to keep those gifts quiet in these troubled, uncertain times.

 

Jim is out, and Blair gets up to splash water on his face and have a quick wash in the sink. At some point in the last few days, Jim has done laundry, so Blair even has the comfort of clean clothing to put on.

 

He’s spotted a few books Jim has in his living room, and he picks up one on the history of D-Day since that looks most interesting. He’s only a few pages in when a knock comes on the door, and Blair freezes. Jim didn’t tell him not to answer, but he isn’t sure who knows he’s there.

 

When the knocking resumes after a brief pause, Blair puts the book down and peeks out through the side window, seeing a tall, black man standing there, wearing a tan vest adorned with fishing flies.

 

From what Blair can tell, the day is cool and bright, so it’s probably a good day for fishing.

 

He opens the door cautiously, not sure what to expect, and the man looks him up and down. “Not what I expected,” he mutters. Before Blair can ask him what he means, he sticks out a hand, “Simon Banks.”

 

“Blair Sandburg,” he replies. “But you probably already knew that.”

 

His sense of humor appears to be recovering as well.

 

“Jim told me,” Simon admits. “He wanted to be the one to make introductions, but I had to see for myself.”

 

“See what?” Blair asks.

 

Simon shrugs. “It’s been a long time since Jim has been this interested in something or someone.”

 

Blair shifts uncomfortably. “Oh.”

 

Simon hesitates. “Jim and I worked together, before everything. He was a good detective, a good man, and then—he had a problem with his health that required his retirement. When things started getting bad, he called me, told me to get my son out, and I didn’t listen.”

 

There are a thousand sad stories in the world, and so Blair is almost afraid to ask. “Is your son—”

 

“He was hurt, but he survived,” Simon replies. “He was lucky.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Blair asks.

 

“Because Jim is going to ask you to stay,” Simon replies. “He might even tell you why. I suggest listening to him.”

 

“You want me to stay?” Blair asks.

 

Simon raises an eyebrow. “I don’t care what the hell you do, Sandburg. Dan says you’re not contagious, and Jim says you’re not dangerous. Stay if you want, or don’t. But at least hear Jim out.”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Blair says. He’s not sure he would go so far as to say that he owes Jim his life, but it’s a near thing. He knows that very well. The least he can do is listen.

 

“Good,” Simon says. “I hope you continue to feel better.”

 

With that, he lets himself out, leaving Blair pensive. He hasn’t been awake enough to think about getting back on the road, but Simon’s visit reminds him that he needs to do just that. He has no intention of staying here, and yet…

 

He probably shouldn’t even be considering the possibility.

 

Blair wants to do something nice for Jim, make him dinner, but he’s also wary of intruding any more than he already has. He settles for reading a book, waiting anxiously for Jim to return. He has some questions, and he really needs answers before he can decide on his next move.

 

Although, if it turns out that Jim is what Blair thinks he is, he’s—well, Blair isn’t sure how he feels about that, other than maybe vindicated. After all, that will mean that Sentinels exist, and that they do protect and serve the tribe.

 

When Jim turns up, he has a cooler in hand. “Fish okay, Chief?”

 

“Yeah, I don’t have a problem with that,” Blair replies. “I should cook for you sometime. I just didn’t want to overstep.”

 

Jim shrugs. “My house is your house for as long as you’re here, Sandburg.”

 

“I should probably get back on the road soon,” Blair hazards. “I’d hate to put you out more than I already have.”

 

“You didn’t put me out,” Jim mutters. “I knew you were coming.”

 

Blair digests that. “Simon Banks stopped by today.”

 

Jim scowls. “I told him not to come by unless I was here. I didn’t—” He stops. “I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

 

“He said I should listen to you.”

 

Jim snorts. “Yeah, like he’s so good at that.”

 

“He seemed to think I should do as he said, not as he did,” Blair says, somewhat amused.

 

Jim pauses as he breads the fillets of fish. “I used to ignore the dreams. I had enough to deal with. I stopped ignoring them when everything went to hell.”

 

The words are clipped, the tone almost harsh, as though Jim is forcing out the words. Blair’s initial impulse is to ask a question or press for more answers, but he bites his tongue.

 

Jim shoots him an amused look. “Go ahead and ask, Chief.”

 

“How did you know I was out there?” Blair asks. “And do you—I mean—are your senses better than others? Are all of your senses heightened, or just sight and smell? Well, probably hearing, too, now that I think about it. Have you had any trouble with them? Wait, is that why—”

 

Jim puts a finger on his lips in a gentle hushing gesture. “Slow down. I’m losing track of the questions.”

 

Jim doesn’t seem to mind, though, because he continues. “It’s a long story, but yes, all five senses, and I knew you were out there because of I dreamed of a wolf lost in the forest. After that, I followed the sound of you coughing.”

 

Blair pauses. “A wolf?”

 

Jim shrugs and dons a flowered apron without a hint of self-consciousness.

 

Blair has never thought of himself as a wolf. His next question is cut off by a spate of coughing, and Jim pauses to hand him a glass of water. “Easy there.”

 

“Thought I was mostly over this,” Blair mutters when he can talk again.

 

“Dan said your bronchial tubes were irritated, and you’d probably be coughing for a while longer,” Jim says. “Which is why you should really take it easy.”

 

“Simon says you were going to ask me to stay,” Blair says, his voice hoarse from coughing.

 

Jim slips the fillets into the oil, which hisses and spits, the smell of frying fish filling the small house. “I’ve been dreaming of the wolf for months. The other night—that was the closest you’d been.”

 

Blair realizes two things in that moment—number one, he’s a little freaked out by the whole thing, and two, that Jim isn’t actually going to say the words because he wants it too much. He won’t risk a rejection.

 

“So, uh, you don’t mind if I take it easy here for a while?” Blair asks.

 

Jim glances at him almost shyly. “It’d be nice to have the company.”

 

There’s a wealth of feeling in Jim’s voice, some aching loneliness that Blair doesn’t understand, that has its roots in Jim’s past, a past he doesn’t yet know. It’s the same loneliness Blair feels, a feeling assuaged by Jim’s presence.

 

He might be imagining the connection that thrums between the two of them, but he doesn’t think so.

 

Jim makes him feel safe, and there’s precious little in this world that has made Blair feel safe in a very long time. He wants to chase that feeling.

 

“I’d like to pull my own weight,” Blair says.

 

Jim smiles. “Oh, don’t worry about that, Chief. Once you’re feeling better, I have no problem putting you to work.”

 

And Blair doesn’t even bother asking what that means, because the sense of coming home is so strong, it really doesn’t matter.

**Author's Note:**

> This could certainly be part of a longer (much longer) fic at some point, and that might happen! But this is what I've got for now.


End file.
